


Him and Her

by illhaveapepperonytogoplease



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, Pepper is out of Tony's league and everyone knows it, Pepperony - Freeform, Steve Rogers Is A Virgin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:59:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illhaveapepperonytogoplease/pseuds/illhaveapepperonytogoplease
Summary: Pepperony through the Avengers’ eyes. Set between 2012 Avengers and Ultron.





	1. Bruce

Bruce enters the common room of the Avengers Tower to see Tony and Pepper sitting on the kitchen counter, criss-crossed, with a foot-high high plate of waffles between them, eating and chatting happily. They turn to face the elevator looking like kids getting caught stealing out of the cookie jar and Tony seems very- _very_ -annoyed that he has suddenly shown up.

“Hey,” he offers nervously, wondering if he should just go downstairs and find some breakfast on the streets of New York.

“Hey Bruce,” Pepper says with a smile, getting off the counter gracefully and he notices she’s wearing nothing but what he’s assuming are Tony’s light grey boxers and baby blue button up shirt, now _definitely_ feeling uncomfortable. But she doesn’t seem to; her expression is welcoming as she brushes her long hair out of her face, completely makeup free and so...natural. Sure, it’s a little inappropriate that the shirt’s unbuttoned one or two too low, but with the sleeves rolled up and bare feet, Bruce can’t think of a time when he’s ever seen the CEO of Stark Industries so relaxed. “You want something to eat?”

“Um-honey, get back here-we were having a nice breakfast,” Tony says accusingly to her back as she opens the fridge. “The Green Machine can find something on his own.”

“Tony,” she warns and Bruce thinks it’s funny how he looks like a kid who’s been scolded by his mother. “Bruce, don’t let him...be him and chase you out-” she gives Tony another glare as he declares “I resent that statement!” before continuing “-have some breakfast. The fridge is stocked for the first time in months.” She opens the door wider to show him the selection and she’s not kidding; what shelves usually hold a few boxes of take out and cans of soda now have deli meats, an assortment of juices, a large carton of eggs, all sorts of vegetables, some mixed fruit cups, a few bottles of water, salad dressings, other condiments, and milk.

“I really shouldn’t-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce, stay and eat something,” she says, her warm smile making him approach the fridge and look closer at what’s inside.

Behind him, he can hear Tony arguing, pleading, with her to kick him out so they can finish their morning together and he thinks it’s cute-in an endearing way-how much his persona changes around her. Normally, he’s the most egotistical man in the universe; to Tony Stark, Tony Stark was the number one priority. But around Pepper, his own importance was bumped down a few notches and she was placed above him in priority, making her the center of his world. He followed her like a lost puppy would follow the person who takes them off the streets; unable to believe someone cared so much about them that they stayed by said person’s side with undying loyalty.

Bruce decides on eggs, taking the carton, butter, and milk out before rummaging through the cabinets and drawers for a pan, a whisk, a knife, and a measuring cup. As he’s preparing his food, he absentmindedly listens to their banter and wonders if it’s always like this, or if they’re just exceptionally witty today.

“I can’t stay here all week,” she’s saying as she stands next to Tony while he sits on the counter, eating small bites of waffle between her remarks.

“Sure you can. You’re choosing not to.”

“Why do you think I came to New York?”

“To see me, obviously,” he says with an ‘uh, _duh_ ’ tone.

“Cute, but only half correct. There’s business to do here that I can’t do at home.”

“But you just _got_ here, babe, you haven’t even-you got here at what? Ten last night? It’s been less than twelve hours.” His voice is so whiny and desperate that Bruce almost laughs; he sounds like a little kid about to throw a tantrum because their mother won’t buy them the toy they want in a store.

“Today’s meeting is extremely important, Tony, and I’d love it if you went.”

“And I’d love it if you didn’t have to go,” he counters.

“Well, I’m sorry that I feel the need to show up when the UN sends council members to meet with us,” comes the smart ass response and Bruce snorts in amusement as he pours the now-whisked eggs onto the frying pan.

“Make someone else sit in and take notes.”

“I would, but my co-CEO has a 100% chance of not making it to the meeting,” she says, her tone playful rather than biting. Bruce isn’t sure how long they’ve been together, or known each other, but she’s obviously become numb to his blatant irresponsibility and holier-than-thou personality.

“What percent chance does you co-CEO have of joining you in the shower before you leave this morning?” There’s the unmistakable sound of him getting slapped in the chest, which he yells out a laughing “Ow!” at, before he must kiss her because both go suspiciously quiet for a second.

“I’d say a 12% chance,” she responds, and it must be some kind of an inside joke between them because he  incredulously exclaims “One time!”

They’re silent for a beat before he asks quietly, obviously having given up on convincing her not to go, “When do you have to leave?”

“Noon. The meeting’s at one.”

“So we have two hours,” his voice is more muffled, and Bruce takes a quick glance over his shoulder to see that he’s kissing her cheek, his arm around her waist as she stands between his legs, still working on the mountain of waffles.

“It takes me at least an hour to get ready.”

“Just wear what you’ve got on.”

“Absolutely not.”

Tony laughs because she sounds so goddamn adamant and Bruce hears her squeal at something Stark does as he says, “I don’t see why not-it’s a great outfit...these underwear alone probably cost more than everything Bruce's wearing.”

“Tony-” She threatens but he can hear the smile in her voice.

“What?!” His voice rises in pitch and it’s playful-sweet-not snarky or condescending like how he talks to Steve or Thor.  “I think they’re Burberry-c’mere, let me see them closer.” Bruce shuts the stove off and turns around right in time to see Pepper slip out of Tony’s grasp, his hands trying to grab the waistband of her-his-underwear and look at the label.

“Do you need any help?” She asks, resting her hand on Bruce’s arm as she looks at the pan of scrambled eggs.

“No, I’m good,” he assures, even though she begins to get a plate for him, her shirt riding a bit and he ignores the way Tony’s staring at her backside. “Do you want any?” He asks as he thanks her for getting the plate.

“She’s good,” Tony answers for her, his eyes practically rolling back into his throat when Clint walks in. “The first day in-what? a billion?-that Pepper’s here and everyone’s coming to eat breakfast with us.”

“Good morning to you, too, Stark,” Clint says, rubbing the bags under his eyes as he looks around. “Coffee?”

“The pods are in that bowl,” Pepper points at a bowl by the Keurig.

“Thanks,” he mumbles tiredly, shuffling over to the other side of the kitchen. The three of them knew that Natasha had been sent on a highly classified mission nearly two weeks ago and Clint hadn’t slept well since she left, but none of them were going to bring it up at that moment.

“Do you _really_ have to go?” Tony asks, his voice borderline desperate as he plays with the collar of the shirt Pepper’s wearing. “Please stay here, it’s so much better here when you're around.”

“If you have such severe separation anxiety, Tony, you should just come with me,” she says as she grabs hold of the hand messing with her shirt, intertwining their fingers. “One of us has to be there and we both know it’s not going to be you.”

“Maybe I will go, Miss Potts, just to prove you wrong.”

She laughs, a sweet sound that makes Tony grin like an idiot in love, as she says, “Yeah and maybe I’ll also start sleeping in and not doing work. Bruce, Clint, do either one of you want these waffles? I’m full.”

“Hey!” He exclaims, pretend hurt marring his features. “I made those for you and-”

“Oh please, you took them out of the Eggo box and put them in the toaster. Clint?” She holds the plate up and he eyes the waffles for a second before taking them with a “Thanks, Pep” and a quick, harmless kiss on the cheek. The two were close because Pepper and Natasha were close, and Natasha and Clint were close, so they indirectly knew all about the other before they'd even officially met. 

“Legolas, lips to yourself,” Tony scolds, making an exasperated sound of shock when the archer gives him the middle finger. “ _Pepper_ -”

“For the love of God, stop whining about everything.”

“Well that’s a little hypocritical, considering you’re whining about my whining,” he says before he meets her eyes, the hard look she’s giving him making him sit up straight. “Sorry ma’am.” Clint laughs, making a ‘whipped’ motion and sound, getting Tony to glare at him before turning back to Pepper. “What do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t know, honey, I just ate,” she says, standing between his legs again, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly and he leans into her touch, like a dog getting scratched behind the ears. “Do you have something in mind?”

“Oh, I’ve got a lot of things in mind right now,” he murmurs, giving her a quick kiss before his hand comes to rest on her hip.

“Is going to the meeting one of them?” She asks teasingly.

“Would there be a special reward for going?” He asks mischievously and Clint groans in disgust, making Pepper’s face turn a cute shade of pink; she’d obviously momentarily forgotten about their audience.

“We’ll negotiate later,” she says reassuringly, patting his chest before she steps out of his embrace as Steve walks in, the small sound of protest from Tony being ignored.

“Okay-we never- _ever_ -all eat breakfast together and suddenly, it’s happening? Did you guys plan this?” He asks, annoyance and exasperation evident in his voice as Steve looks around the kitchen, obviously unsure of what to make of Pepper’s appearance. In the 1940s, Bruce is fairly certain that it wasn’t a common occurrence for a woman to be lounging around in her boyfriend’s underwear with a bunch of guys after a night of premarital sex, and Steve’s flustered, awkward expression confirms his hypothesis.

“We just like Pepper a lot more than you,” Clint says, his mouth full of waffles and he gives her a playful wink when she smiles at him.

Steve seems to get over the shock of her in such casual clothing and he opens the fridge, asking, “Who restocked this?”

“Me.”

“I did.”

Tony and Pepper answer simultaneously, looking at the other like they’d lost their mind.

“It was my idea,” he says, looking at Steve seriously. “I thought we’d need food.”

“I went shopping and bought everything.” Her eye roll has been perfected over the years of her being around Tony and it’s so exasperated yet affectionate that Bruce thinks it’s more of a compliment than an insult. Sort of like “you’re an absolute moron, but I love you.”

“It’s fine, I just-” Steve looks between the two, not used to a couple fighting so much “-it’s not normally full.”

“Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee?” Pepper offers sweetly, knowing Steve still isn’t always sure how to operate the new machines of the 21st century. He’d once quietly suffered all day through a caffeine withdrawal headache when he couldn’t make himself a cup of coffee because he didn’t know how to add more water to the Keurig and he didn’t want to bother anyone.

“I think he can manage, Pep,” Tony says, but Pepper assures Steve, “Ignore him, he’s moody today because I’m going to work.”

“Ma’am, no offense, but he’s moody all the time,” Steve says, a soft humility around the words and he eases considerably when she grins knowingly, getting a mug out of the cabinet.

“You’ll get used to it,” she says as she gets a pod and turns the coffee machine on, waiting patiently as it hisses and begins pouring coffee.

“How long does it take?”

“Well for me it took...about nine years.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” Tony calls, distracted by a loose thread on his sweatpants, but his whining falls on deaf ears. “And don’t lie, Pep, you’ve been in love with this fine piece of ass since day one.”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “ _Right_.”

Sometimes, Bruce wasn’t sure what was actually keeping them together; their personalities didn’t mesh at all and they bickered constantly, although it was more of a playful flirting banter than legitimate arguments. And the difference between him and her was astounding-Pepper was easily one of the sweetest, most responsible, caring people on the planet and yet she picked...Tony. He wasn’t a really bad guy-except for the fact that 90% of the time he was an arrogant jerk-but he certainly didn’t deserve her, either. Probably the best part was that Tony knew-he _knew_ Pepper was light years out of his league and he held on to her tight, making him more grounded when she was around.

Their relationship had no right to work as well as it did, for as often as they fought about quite literally everything, but the fact that it worked at all was solid, empirical proof that both truly, genuinely loved the other more than anyone knew.

As Pepper waits for Steve’s coffee to be poured, she begins running her fingers through her long hair, wincing as they get tangled in knots before quickly-quicker than any woman he’s ever seen do it before, at least-braiding it in a single braid down her back, getting stuck at the end when she realizes she doesn’t have anything to tie it with.

“Tony-pass me that rubber band,” she says, eyes narrowing when he doesn’t move to get it. “ _Please_.”

“Put your hair down, honey,” he says, his voice adopting an odd tone; slightly warning and a little shocked.

“What? Pass me that-”

“Believe me, put your hair down,” he hops off the counter and says something lowly in her ear-something that makes her turn bright pink-but it’s a second too late.

“Miss Potts, you have a-” Steve begins, only to be cut off by a wholly embarrassed “I know” from Pepper, who is now glaring daggers at Tony as she lets her hair out of its braid, one hand covering something on her neck that her hair already hides. “That looks serious, are you okay?” Steve’s concern is palpable and Bruce puts two and two together, figuring there’s a hickey on her neck and Steve’s innocent, virgin self hasn’t figured it out.

“Yeah-I must’ve-” she gives Tony a pointed look, sheepishly continuing “...hit it on something…”

“Yeah, someone’s lips,” Clint scoffs quietly into his plate, obviously having arrived at the same conclusion as Bruce, but no one seems to hear him.

“He did this?” Steve asks, gently, almost as if he’s concerned for her, obviously interpreting her glances at Tony and the hesitant tone incorrectly. “Did he hurt-”

“No I didn't  _hurt_ her, you stupid test tube baby,” Tony says, his tone biting and protective and Bruce knows Steve crossed a line; Tony was an unbearable asshole but he would never hurt someone he loved.

“There’s a bruise on your neck,” he says, glaring at Tony like he believes he was actually capable of hurting Pepper. “How did it get-”

“You don’t want the answer to that,” Clint cuts in, trying to break the tension in the room that had been easygoing and relaxed less than a minute ago. “Steve, trust me, everything’s fine.”

“Steve,” Pepper begins, her voice reassuring, soothing his concern. “It’s-I’m fine, Tony didn’t-wouldn’t-hurt me.”

“Then why-”

“It’s called a _hickey_ ,” Tony spits out, annoyance and exasperation evident in his tone. “Given that we had tons of sex last night, it’s expected to happen.” His statement makes Pepper flush bright red, covering her face with her hands for a second. “Do you know _anything_ about bedroom activities, Captain Chastity?”

“I-” Steve stops, seeming to realize that Tony is most definitely angry at him for the accusations and Pepper was wholeheartedly wishing he had never even brought up the bruise. “I’m sorry-the-”

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Pepper mumbles, clearly horrified at the entire situation because she doesn’t even look back to say goodbye to anyone, moving the elevator quickly in her bare feet.

“I’ll help you!” Tony calls, running after her, making it in the elevator just as it closes, managing to miss setting off the sensors and the last image the three see of them is her beginning to point an accusatory finger at him, his downright devilish smirk, and his arm sneaking around her waist.

The three guys are quiet for a second before Steve, profoundly confused, asks, “Why would she need help in the _shower_?”


	2. Natasha

Natasha’s sitting in the loft that overlooks the Avenger’s tower living room when Tony and Pepper enter below, and she perks up a bit at the sight of them because she’d been getting bored and they were always free entertainment.

She considers for a moment letting them know she’s up above, watching them, but they seem to be in the middle of an argument-when are they not?-and honestly, she doesn’t want to get in the middle of it.

“I don’t want to practice, Tony,” Pepper says, tugging back on the hand that he’s leading her into the room with.

“You’re the one dragging my ass to this event,” he counters. “And I’m not going unless I know I won’t look like an idiot dancing with you.”

“You always look like an idiot dancing.”

“You're lucky you’re cute, you know that?” When she doesn’t respond, he restarts his argument, “C’mon, I just want to practice for a minute, baby.”

“We’ve danced before without practicing.”

“It’s different now, you’re hurt-I don’t know where to put my hands,” he gestures towards her and the plethora of bruises peeking out from underneath the tank and leggings she’s wearing.

Three weeks ago, SHIELD Headquarters had been attacked by a terrorist group based out of Kabul and Pepper’d had the severe misfortune of being inside when they entered, guns blazing and bombs blasting. Because she’d been in the building’s main offices, she was close to the most severe of the bombs and had-with that slender frame weighing all of 110 pounds-blown clear through the drywall, effectively breaking a good number of bones.  Then, as the terrorists were doing a sweep of the rooms and recognized who she was and what she was to Iron Man, they hadn’t treated her kindly; by the time SHIELD reinforcements had arrived, she’d been kicked and hit around with the butts of the men’s assault rifles enough to become a permanent bruise for a few weeks. And as SHIELD began eliminating the terrorists and the group realized their attack was coming to an abrupt halt, they’d fired their guns at random and managed to get her in her right shoulder blade.

Needless to say, she’d been in the hospital for quite some time; four broken ribs, a broken collarbone, sliced Achilles’ tendon from flying debris during the explosion, concussion, orbital fracture, and muscle damage due to the bullet were just the ones Natasha could remember off the top of her head.

“Then we don't dance,” Pepper says.

“No,” Tony responds petulantly, arms crossed like the manchild he is. “If we’re going, we’re dancing.”

Pepper had been adamant about attending an American Red Cross benefit gala in five days for appearances’ sake and Tony absolutely abominated the idea of her leaving the safety of the Avengers Tower, using every tactic imaginable to get her not to go and this dancing thing was just his latest.

“Look at me, Tony, you can’t dance with this.”

Even Natasha had to admit that it would be complicated; Pepper’s right arm is in a sling for both the collarbone and shoulder blade damage and her left leg is in a boot for the torn tendon.

“But I _wanna_ ,” he whines, taking hold of her free hand. “I only ever go to these things to dance with you, Pep-” he kisses the back of her hand “-just practice with me for a minute and if it’s obviously not going to work out, I’ll give up.”

“You don’t ‘ _give up’_ on anything, Tony.” Despite her words, Pepper steps forward and he grins in victory, squeezing the hand he’s holding.

He raises their hands up, turning to face her as his other arm wraps around her waist until she suddenly jerks away from his touch.

“ _Don’t_ touch there,” she winces, taking a shaky gasp of air. He’d probably pressed right on the lowest of her broken ribs-the one that was downright refusing to heal correctly and still remained dark blue and red after nearly a month.

“Then-” He pauses, giving her a second to recover from the shock, before his hand slides to her hip. “Here?”

“Yes...that should be okay.”

They take a few cautious steps together in a simple waltz, Tony’s eyes glued to their feet, wary of stepping on her boot. Her tendon had recovered remarkably well-probably due to the fact that Tony had forced her to lay in bed for a solid week after being released from the hospital-and she got around efficiently, but she still jolted in pain whenever someone hit her foot because the damned thing made her entire leg rattle at the slightest touch.

“I’m getting that off tomorrow,” Pepper says, meeting his eyes, also noticing he hasn’t stopped staring at it.

“You’re not supposed to.”

“Dr. Miller says I’ve healed well.”

“Dr. Miller is full of shit,” he seethes, the tension in his shoulders noticeable even from where Natasha’s sitting.

He had been downright _furious_ at that man since the first night Pepper was in the hospital; he had sworn, bribed, pleaded, and begged to see her, but Dr. Miller was uncompromising, refusing to allow anyone-even _the_ Tony Stark-entrance to her room after hours. His disdain for him had only been made worse when he had JARVIS run a background check on the doctor and found that-albeit _thirty_ years ago-he’d been investigated by SHIELD for ties to Hydra. He hadn’t been charged with anything, obviously, and his name had been cleared but Tony still bristled every time Dr. Miller was brought up.

“I’m well aware that you think that, honey, but he’s the one with a medical degree,” her voice is tired, having heard him rant about her doctor plenty of times in the past few weeks. The two continue dancing somewhat successfully around the living room, venturing slightly toward the kitchen.

“I could have a medical degree tomorrow if I wanted one.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh really? What’s a patella?” She asks, quirking her eyebrow at his lack of response, his silence making her grin.

“Your ear bone,” he guesses confidently after a pregnant pause.

“Ear bone?” She questions. “That’s some doctor you are- _ow_ , Tony, _God_ -” she hisses, jumping back when he clips her boot with his foot, only to make it worse by slamming right into the kitchen counter behind her with a considerable amount of force. She lets out a little yelp, eyes squeezing shut in pain and Natasha winces at the discomfort on her face; it looks like she’s on the verge of tears and she hadn’t even cried during the first few days out of the hospital, through painkiller withdrawals and overzealous Thank-God-you’re-alive hugs and everything.

“Honey?” Tony questions, hesitating before he gently puts one hand at the base of her neck, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. “Shh-I got you-come here-” he stops talking when Pepper’s good hand grasps at shirt he’s wearing, clutching the fabric desperately in an attempt to get control over her emotions.

They stand there for a minute, holding each other, and Natasha _would_ get up and leave as to not intrude on the moment but they would definitely hear the door close behind her. When Pepper makes a sound that is most definitely a sob, Tony begins murmuring something lowly to her, his eyes screwed shut as his head’s turned in to her neck.

Natasha has never thought of Tony as an overly affectionate person, but where Pepper’s concerned, everything about the man did a complete 180.

It was cliché to say she made him a better person, but she most definitely did; he was tolerable around her and that’s really saying something. His smile became genuine and he stumbled over his words like a lovesick fool and he ignored the rest of the world whenever she was around. He practically worshipped the woman-he knew she was the greatest thing that ever happened to him and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her by his side.

Sometimes Natasha didn’t even recognize the arrogant, self-centered, unbearable man she’d met a few years ago- _that’s_ the effect Pepper had on him.

“You’re an ass,” she hears Pepper breathe, the redhead pulling out of his embrace, tears shining on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry-I-” He stops, a guilty look on his face as his hand rests on her hip again, squeezing her reassuringly. “ _This_ is why I wanted to practice,” he defends, kissing her cheek gently, lingering there for a second. “Imagine if that had happened in front of the entire gala-at least there’s no one here.”

 _Well. Not “no one,” exactly_ , Natasha thinks, continuing to observe the two from the loft.

“We’re not dancing,” Pepper sniffs as Tony wipes her tears away.

“What if-”

“ _No_.” She looks at him sternly, pursing her lips when he looks at her desperately. “If you made me cry the first time, you might rehospitalize me the second.”

“Well, actually-I think the combination of your own nerves and hormones made you cry because you walked into the-” he stops his rambling, taking note of the glare she’s giving him. “I’m not helping myself, am I?”

“Not really.” She scrunches up her face when he kisses her, his hand moving to the back of her head to hold their mouths  together for a second.

“How ‘bout now?” He grins when he pulls back.

“You’re not going to-” he cuts her off with another kiss, this one lasting considerably longer and Natasha looks at the suddenly extremely interesting ceiling as Tony works his womanizing ways on Pepper.

“Still nothing?” He asks hopefully after a minute, his eyes wide and pleading.

“If you let me take the boot off, I’ll dance,” she promises, her eyes following Tony as he thinks through the offer. He had been worried out of his _mind_ about Pepper healing and making a full recovery, so much so that he had JARVIS constantly scanning her body to check her progress and Bruce examining her at least once a day. “Tony, we both know that my foot is fine.”

“I-Pep, it’s only been...” He stops, eyeing her and her foot before sighing heavily. “For right now, then it goes back on?”

“Until I go to bed?” She counters, eyebrows raised in question.

“That- _fine_ ,” he gives in. “It can stay off until you go to bed, then it goes back on and Dr. I-Betrayed-My-Country can give you the all clear tomorrow.”

If there’s one thing about them that Natasha’s envious of, it’s the way Tony and Pepper can always reach a compromise. No matter how big the conflict-whether it be an momentous issue like her safety or a petty disagreement about movie night-they always met in the middle to give and take a little from the other. Their conflict/resolution capabilities were  probably the centerpiece of their relationship-the main thing keeping him and her together.

“Oh for the love of God-” Her voice is muffled because she’s leaning forward to undo the boot “-would you knock it off? Dr. Miller didn’t _betray_ anyone.”

“Except all three of his wives,” Tony answers, kneeling next to her to help.

“You looked into his _marriages_?!” Her voice rises in pitch and Tony winces slightly as she suddenly looks furious at him. “He-”

“Oh-look at that-your boot’s off,” he says, gently guiding her foot out of the brace, the news enough to make her forget, at least momentarily, about his in-depth background checks.

Pepper takes a hesitant step forward, unwilling to put all of her body weight on the foot just yet, and Tony stands to support her. His hands rest on her hips, firm and steady, keeping her upright as she walks forward into the very center of the living room, all furniture and kitchen counters out of the way. She’s a little shaky, but she looks tipsy rather than in pain.

“You okay?” He asks, concern evident on his features.

“Yeah, I-” She shifts her weight so that it’s evenly distributed between her two legs and smiles reassuringly. “It doesn’t hurt, it just feels...rusty.”

“Good.” He sounds relieved, reaching behind her head to release her hair from its ponytail before taking hold of her hand. “Now, Miss Potts, may I have this dance?”

“Did you have to do that?” She asks, sounding annoyed, shaking her head, strawberry blonde hair flying around until it settles on her shoulders.

“Yes-I like your hair down, you know that-you want some music? A little Frank Sinatra? Ella Fitzgerald? Dean-”

“JARVIS, pick a song, anything from Nat King Cole,” Pepper interrupts, pretending to be irritated with Tony, pausing as the AI sorts through the command.

“This is ‘When I Fall in Love’ by Nat King Cole, Miss Potts,” JARVIS’s soothing voice sounds through the room before a slow jazzy number begins playing through speakers in the living room.

“Nat King Cole?” Tony asks, head tilting as he looks at her. “I thought you liked Tony Bennett.”

“I’m capable of liking more than one singer, you know,” she teases, her exasperated facade falling as they begin to sway to the instrumental intro.

Once Nat King Cole begins singing, the slight static that old songs tend to have filling the space, Natasha can’t hear what they’re saying because they’re speaking too softly to each other, but they’re both smiling-hers wide and breathtaking, his subtle and in awe-as they dance around the living room in small steps. They’re impossibly close, bodies naturally making space for the others, while being extremely cautious not to touch any part of her that’s hurt. It’s easier to waltz without the clunky boot on and it goes much more smoothly, Tony even daring to twirl her slowly, the grin on Pepper’s face more noticeable than her winces when she twists uncomfortably.

That’s not what catches Natasha’s attention, though-it’s Tony.

His eyes never leave Pepper’s face once, roaming over her constantly, all consumed by the woman in his arms,  eyelashes fluttering with every little movement she makes. She doesn’t even seem to notice the way he’s staring at her so intently-she continues their conversation, smiling, laughing, wincing as he twirls her again, the song eventually fading as another takes its place.  He’s holding her tenderly, as if she might break at any second, and he kisses her cheek when she rests her head on his shoulder, closing his eyes for a second before he glances down at her.

The look in his eyes as he does so, adoration in its purest form, is incredibly raw and intimate and Natasha gets up to leave, feeling like she’s beyond invading their privacy at this point. She manages to slip out of the room without making a sound except for the soft click of the door, which is easily drowned out by the song playing, the image of Tony’s face stuck in her mind.

Love may be for children but if there’s one thing she knows for certain, it’s that Tony Stark is a _child_.


End file.
